Chapter 14

Raelyn was frustrated by the lack of cooperation within the community. No one answered their doors, even though she could hear movement and in some instances televisions inside. No matter how many times she knocked or called out, there was no response.

It was because they were dressed in uniform, she knew. But they didn't really have a choice. Even if they had been wearing plain clothes, they'd have to identify themselves as MPD police officers and would meet the same resistance.

Yet they continued doing their best, going from door to door, hoping and praying one person would be brave enough to answer.

She wished they'd been able to catch up with Tiger. Or whatever the teenager's real name was. And where was Reggie Vallera? Still hiding inside the house listed on his last-known residence? Or had he gone elsewhere too?

After a full hour, they'd gotten nowhere. She returned to the corner of the street where Grayson, Jina, Steele, and now Reed, too, were standing. "Any luck?"

"Nope." Grayson glanced around. "Anyone else feel like there are dozens of pairs of eyeballs boring into our backs?"

Steele chuckled. "Oh yeah. We're being watched big time."

"Always," Reed agreed.

Raelyn sighed. Then frowned. "Where is Isaiah?"

"He was going to houses, too, on the next street," Jina said. "I figured if anyone would have luck getting one of these residents to open their doors, it would be him."

"Yeah, but he's also been targeted by gunfire more times than I can count." She mentally kicked herself for not keeping an eye on him. "Let's go pick him up. We're wasting our time here."

"Fine with me," Grayson said. "I wish we could have spoken to either Reggie or Tiger, though. We could use a little intel before we kick off the main event later tonight."

Raelyn still wasn't fond of that idea but had resigned herself to the inevitable. "I just hope the neighbor Reed talked into cooperating with us doesn't change her mind."

"She won't," Reed assured her. "She likes me." They turned and headed up to the next corner. Going around the block, she searched for Isaiah.

"Are you sure this is the block?" she asked Jina. "Maybe he turned right to head west rather than turning left to head east."

"That's what he said." Jina frowned. "Maybe we should split up and cover both blocks, just in case."

"I'll stick with Raelyn," Grayson offered. "Jina, you and Steele should head to the west. Reed, take the north."

With a nod, the two officers turned away. Raelyn glanced at Grayson. "I'm worried about Isaiah. What if someone invited him in and killed him?"

"We'd have heard the gunfire," Grayson said. "Besides, he knows these residents better than we do. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Yeah. Okay." She tried to smile, but her stomach knotted with tension. She was upset that Isaiah had gone off on his own without telling her.

They'd been working well as a team. Or so she'd thought.

She and Grayson strolled along the sidewalk, staying on opposite sides of the street. She searched homes for an indication that Isaiah was inside one of them talking with the owner or renter.

By the time they had reached the end of the block, the knot in her stomach was tighter than a drum. Something was wrong. Even if Isaiah was inside, it wasn't likely the conversation would take this long.

She lifted her hand to the radio. "Jina? Do you and Steele have anything?"

"Negative," Jina replied.

"Reed?" she asked.

"Negative," he repeated.

"I don't like this, Grayson." She joined her teammate on the other sidewalk. "He's in trouble."

"Maybe he headed back to the car?" Grayson sounded calm but looked just as concerned as she was.

"Let's go." She turned and jogged to the street where they'd left Rhy's SUV. Thankfully, it was still there and appeared undamaged. Maybe the area residents had instinctively known it was a cop car and stayed away.

But it was also empty. Isaiah wasn't sitting there, waiting for them.

She called the disposable phone she'd gotten him. It rang and rang, but there was no answer. Not even a voice mailbox.

"I made him ditch his phone," she said, turning anguished eyes toward Grayson. "I felt certain he'd been tracked by the device. He's not answering the cheap one we replaced it with, and I'm not sure we can track it either."

"Hey, it's okay, we'll find him." Grayson seemed to know she was on the edge. "He couldn't have gone too far on foot."

"Yeah. I guess." That wasn't exactly reassuring. She reached for her radio. "We're taking the SUV to search for him. You guys may want to use the sedan too."

"Roger that," Jina agreed. "Stay in touch."

"Ditto," Reed added.

"We will." She wished she'd given Isaiah a radio. A better phone. Anything that would make it easier to find him.

If Isaiah had already been attacked and was lying dead in one of these homes or back alleys, she'd never forgive herself.

Grayson didn't object when she slid in behind the wheel of the SUV. Over the past few days, she'd gotten to know the neighborhood better than he did.

But not nearly as well as Isaiah. And that thought gave her pause.

"He left on purpose," she said, half to herself.

"You think so?" Grayson asked.

"It's the only thing that makes sense." She smacked her palm on the edge of the steering wheel. "He left to draw out the assailant on his own."

Grayson whistled. "Brave move."

"And stupid since we had a plan to set him up in the church anyway." She turned at the next corner. "We'll check the church first. That must be where he is."

"Unless the Chief snatched him off the street," Grayson said. When she scowled, he added, "Come on, Rae. We need to consider all possibilities."

He was right. This wasn't the time to make assumptions. "Call Rhy. Let him know Isaiah is MIA. See what he thinks."

As Grayson used his phone to make the call, she drove to the church. But when she went to park in front of the building, Grayson shook his head and waved his hand, indicating she should keep going.

She drove through several additional streets before pulling over to the curb. Grayson was still listening to whatever Rhy was saying.

"Yeah, okay. We're roughly three blocks from the church. I'll let Jina, Steele, and Reed know they should stay back too." He pocketed his phone. "Rhy's not happy with the change in plan."

"We didn't make the change," she protested. "Isaiah did."

"I know that." Grayson sighed. "Rhy is going to talk this through with Joe. We may escalate the time frame of the original plan."

"How are we going to remain hidden in daylight?" She tried not to sound as annoyed as she felt.

"I think that's the biggest hurdle," Grayson agreed. "But we can get Flynn in place as a street bum. And he's going to tell Reed to sneak into the neighbor's house across the street."

"What are we supposed to do? Sit and wait?" When he shrugged and nodded, she clenched her teeth and looked away.

What had possessed Isaiah to take off like that? Especially knowing there was no one stationed nearby to intervene on his behalf?

Why, Lord?She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to maintain her composure.

"Don't worry. Isaiah's tough." Grayson awkwardly patted her arm. "He'll be fine."

"You weren't there when he was targeted by gunfire." She appreciated his attempt to make her feel better, but she had been a part of this from the beginning. The initial attempt to shoot him when she'd been about to arrest him.

It seemed like eons ago now. So much had happened since then.

Like their incredible kiss.

No, she couldn't go there. Not now. Think. She needed to think! "I need to get out of this uniform." She searched her memory. "There's a used clothing resale shop a mile from here."

"Rhy said to wait. . ."

"The original plan isn't going to work," she interrupted. "I need a change of clothes. Let's go already. I'll change during the time it will take Rhy to get back in touch with us."

"Fine." Grayson threw up his hands in frustration. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Yeah. I know." She told herself that changing out of her uniform wasn't going against Rhy's orders. But depending on how things played out from this moment on, she very well may get herself in trouble.

The trip to the used clothing store didn't take long. But finding clothes that fit did. She finally settled on a pair of jeans that had paint splatters on them and a long-sleeved T-shirt that had badly faded in the wash. She found a black belt that fit if she used the last notch, along with a baseball cap to cover her hair. Armed with her new items, she directed Grayson to stop at the nearest gas station so she could change.

The one concession she made was to take the holster from her utility belt and to slip it on the new one. The long-sleeved T-shirt was baggy enough that the gun wasn't too obvious.

She eyed herself in the mirror knowing the disguise—such as it was—would have to do.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Grayson muttered when she joined him in the SUV.

She was pretty sure it wasn't. But that was okay. She didn't care.

She would risk her job and more to save Isaiah's life.

Isaiah recognizedthe number on his disposable phone as Raelyn's. Shame and regret washed over him as he pressed the end call button without answering.

He'd made his decision. Good or bad, he'd deal with whatever came.

Sitting in his tiny office in the church made him think of that initial shooting, the one in which he'd made the anonymous call to the police about a drug deal going down. The call that had started the train speeding forward until it had crashed into the wall in a giant wreck.

It was fitting that he was here now, hopefully bringing this to an end. He didn't want to die. Didn't want to leave Raelyn without letting her know how much he loved her, but this was the best solution for all of them.

Having officers sit outside the church for hours on end while nothing happened would be useless. He'd made sure that he was alone when he'd walked up to the front of the church and unlocked the door. He'd even glanced behind him, scanning the street as he stepped inside. It hadn't been as difficult as he'd thought to make himself a target.

Of course, no one had come to find him yet. And he wasn't sure the Chief would send anyone until it was later in the day. The problem with spring was daylight saving time. It wouldn't get dark outside until eight thirty or nine o'clock at night.

That was a long time to sit here, waiting for the trap to spring. And he wasn't armed with anything but a small paring knife that he'd found in the kitchenette. It was sharp, but no match against a gun.

He stared at his notes, scribbled ideas for what he would preach about on Sunday. At this point, even with offering a free meal, he doubted anyone would bother to attend church. The violence outside would keep those few law-abiding citizens away. And the possibility of the police showing up would keep the rest away.

For the first time, it occurred to him that he might not have a congregation anymore. Even with the mayor's support, he couldn't force people to attend services. Much less listen to what he had to say.

How could he instill the word of God and hope into the community if no one came to hear His word? A wave of helplessness hit hard.

He'd failed in the Lord's mission.

Holding his head in his hands, he struggled to maintain his composure. It wasn't as if he hadn't failed before.

But this one hurt deep down in his soul.

He'd thought God had spared his life for a reason. So far, it didn't seem as if he'd done anything worthy of being saved.

After a long moment, he managed to pull himself together. Maybe it wasn't a lost cause. If he could entice the Chief to make another attempt to kill him, and the police found and arrested him, the neighborhood would be viewed as a safer place to be.

Wouldn't it?

He froze when he heard the sound of a shoe squeaking on linoleum. Someone was in the kitchenette.

This was it. Grabbing the small paring knife, he palmed it, hoping the intruder wouldn't notice until he was close enough to use it. Then he stood and moved around the desk, edging out of the office as quietly as possible.

A drawer in the kitchenette opened, and he heard rummaging sounds. What in the world? Then he heard the crinkle of plastic.

Crackers. He kept crackers in the drawer for the soup he provided in the after-service meal.

He continued easing along the wall until he could see into the kitchenette. And he wasn't surprised to find Pinky standing there, munching on a packet of saltines as if he hadn't eaten in hours. Maybe days.

Isaiah's heart squeezed in his chest. "Hello, Pinky. I have more food if you're hungry."

The kid spun like a top, nearly falling over in his haste. Cracker crumbs clung to the corner of his mouth and dusted his shirt.

"Hey, it's okay. You're safe here." Isaiah offered his most reassuring smile. "You're not in trouble. I'm alone. There's no one else with me."

"Where's the girl piggy?" Pinky asked, trying to sound tough, despite the cracker crumbs. To Isaiah's eyes, he looked uncertain and defeated.

"I ditched her." He slid the paring knife into his pocket. "There's water in the fridge and some lunch meat. We can make sandwiches. And I think there's canned soup in the cupboard, I'll heat that too." He wished he had more to offer the boy. "Have a seat and I'll get you something to eat."

Pinky looked suspicious, poised as if to run. But then his shoulders slumped, and he dropped into the closest chair.

Isaiah took a moment to rummage in the fridge. He pulled out the small amount of ham that had been left behind and made a quick sandwich. The bread wasn't fresh, but it wasn't moldy either. He doubted Pinky would care. Then he opened two cans of beef vegetable soup, poured the contents into bowls, and set them in the microwave on high.

Pinky wolfed down the sandwich in two minutes. Then he swiped his hand over his mouth, and muttered, "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He sat down next to the boy. "You're not in any trouble," he repeated.

"Yeah, sure." Pinky snorted. "That's why I been forced to hide like a rat these past few days."

"I'm sorry about that." He tried to catch the teen's gaze, but Pinky looked everywhere except at him. "Thank you for leaving the Glock."

That made Pinky glare at him. "I didn't do nuthin'."

"Okay, but I'm still grateful to have the gun." He tried to think of a way to get the boy to talk. "I'm sorry you've had to hide out."

Pinky lifted a shoulder. "Better than facing my old man."

Every time Isaiah thought about how his father had slammed his pinky finger with a hammer, it made his blood boil. But anger wouldn't help now. He needed answers. "The Glock was wiped clean, no fingerprints. And it was used to kill Officer Dillon Colbert."

Pinky looked away, hunched his shoulders even more, and played with his water bottle. "So?"

"I know you didn't shoot him," Isaiah said. "I know someone else killed that cop, then forced you to take the gun."

Pinky's brown eyes widened in surprise. "Did you see us?"

He hadn't known for sure until Pinky's reaction confirmed it. He knew how things worked on the street. Older teens often pulled younger ones into the life of crime, knowing that the DA's office sometimes treated them with more leniency.

But not when it came to killing a cop. That was like a death sentence. If Pinky had been found with the gun, he would have been tried as an adult and sentenced to life in prison without the chance for parole.

And that made him all the more ticked off over how this had all gone down. He wanted the person responsible to pay for this crime.

"Talk to me, Pinky," he urged. "I promise I can help smooth things over with the police if you tell me what really happened."

"Whose gonna believe me?" Pinky scowled and shook his head. "Not those pigs. They'll toss me in jail and leave me there to rot." The kid's lower lip trembled. "My ole man isn't going to help me by getting a lawyer, that's for sure. Everyone knows those freebies are useless. They don't care if we go to jail or not."

"Who shot the police officer?" He leaned forward, his gaze holding the boy's. "Please, Pinky. I promise I can help you. Just be honest with me and I'll make sure you're treated fairly."

There was a long silence. So long that he felt certain Pinky wouldn't say. Then finally the kid opened up. "It was Reggie. His brother Tiger made me take the gun." Pinky's voice was full of defeat. "But they'll both deny it. And that's why it doesn't matter. It's my word against theirs. Two against one. And I'm nobody."

"You're not nobody; I believe you. And I care about you too." Isaiah hadn't realized Reggie had been out there, but it explained a lot. Especially how Pinky ended up with the Glock. Before he could say anything more, though, the microwave dinged.

He stood to remove the soup, intending to stir it when he heard another sound. That's when he realized he'd made his second biggest mistake. Not checking the back door to make sure it was locked after Pinky had found his way inside.

They were trapped.

"Well, well," a voice said. "Nice to have both of you in one place."

He turned from the microwave and took a step to the side so that his body was in front of Pinky's. Then his jaw dropped in shock when he recognized the familiar face of Beau Critten. His former classmate.

The mayor's son.

Somehow, he managed to face Beau with a calm expression despite the thundering of his heart against his ribs. "Hey, Beau. I haven't seen you in ages. What brings you here to the New Hope Church? I don't remember you attending services with your father recently."

"Don't give me that church bull," Beau sneered. That was when Isaiah noticed Beau held a gun in his hand.

Isaiah slipped his hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around the small paring knife. He felt better having a weapon, even though he wasn't at all sure he'd have the chance to use it.

"I'm sorry, I thought?—"

"I don't give a rip if you're Daddy's pet project," Beau said, talking over him. "You've been a thorn in my side long enough. I knew it was a matter of time before you ratted me out. I'm here to eliminate the problem, once and for all."

"The problem? How am I a problem for you? My mission is one of peace, nothing more. And I feed the members of the community after each service," he added, striving to get through to the young man standing before him. "How is that a threat to you?" He needed to keep Beau talking in case Raelyn, Grayson, and the others were someplace nearby.

He never should have sneaked off without telling them. Especially Raelyn. As he faced certain death, his heart ached for what he might never have. He should have told her how much he loved her.

Yet as he faced Beau and his gun, Isaiah's biggest concern was the young boy behind him. He had no doubt that killing Pinky was part of Beau's plan to get rid of the problem. And why not? Pinky was the last person to have the Glock that killed Officer Colbert. Raelyn had seen that for herself.

With Pinky dead, it would be easy to place the blame on him. And the other kids, like Reggie and Tiger would adamantly insist Pinky had done it.

He still had his hand on the knife and wished he'd learned how to throw one. But he didn't. He was afraid Beau would shoot him in the chest before he could get his arm back for the attempt.

"You're a rat," Beau hissed, as if desperate to get everything off his chest too. "I know you spilled your guts about Donte Wicks while you were in the hospital. And it was only a matter of time before you told the police about me too."

Me too? As in?—

"Wait. You're the Chief? All this time you've been running the drug dealing in this neighborhood?"

Beau let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Yes, I'm the brains behind the entire operation. Daddy thinks I have a nice legit job. And I do. Just not the stupid office job he helped me get. Oh, I do show up from time to time, but I don't stick around all day." He grinned. "They won't fire me because I'm the mayor's son. My one year of college is all it took for people to see me differently. But I'm smarter than they ever knew."

The news rocked him back on his heels. He'd never once expected the mayor's son to be the one in charge. Especially not for the past ten years! Longer than that, really, as he knew the Chief was in charge for at least two years before Isaiah got sucked into the life. At least, that's what Donte had told him.

All this time, Beau was running things. And Isaiah had never known the truth. He felt like an idiot.

"Well, that explains a lot," he said finally. "But you're wrong about me ratting you out, Beau. I had no idea that you were the Chief. Donte never told me. Neither did Hugo. Honestly, I'm impressed you were able to keep your identity a secret for so long."

"Yeah. And it's going to stay that way." Beau lifted the gun. "You know that old saying—if you want the job done right, do it yourself? Well, this is me, taking care of getting rid of you and that idiot Pinky once and for all."

This is it, he thought. Then he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving behind Beau. Raelyn? Or one of the others? There wasn't a moment to waste.

"Gun!" he shouted. Then turned and threw himself over Pinky, protecting the teen as much as he could as the sharp report of gunfire reverberated through the room.